How to Sing in an Irish Pub

   Four years ago at about two in the afternoon, I chanced to enter Dick Mack's Pub in the town of Dingle on Ireland's beautiful west coast. Dingle is smaller than my home town of Roseau, Minnesota (pop. 2050) but it has lots more pubs (40) and way more tourists (hundreds of thousands).
     Dick Mack's is one of my favorite pubs. It's in all the guide books so it gets lots of tourists, but it's somehow managed to retain it's authenticity. However you won't want to go in there on a weekend night.  It's a mob scene. But an early afternoon is the perfect time to stop in for a pint and a chat with the other tourists who've made their way there from all over the world or maybe even from your old neighborhood back home.
     Now on this particular day at Dick Mack's, a portly old fellow was inviting people to "give us a song." He even looked at me as I walked in, but when I didn't take the bait, he moved on. He got a  young woman to sing an Irish ballad, and I thought, "She's brave to expose herself like that."
     The host looked at me again. This was my big chance. I had always fantasized about singing in an Irish pub, but I chickened out and recited a short Irish poem. The man waved me away in disgust and found another woman, who started singing "Edelweiss." The crowd joined in. Edelweiss! Apparently you could sing anything you wanted in any key. I slunk away, my pint of Guinness unordered, unearned.
     Over the next four years I polished my repertoire, picturing myself back at Dick Mack's, singing my song. receiving a polite smattering of applause, and ordering a well deserved pint. And wouldn't you know, just this past July, I found myself back in Dingle along with 50 or so of my nearest and dearest.
     Early one afternoon, my sister Mary-Jo and I stopped in at Dick Mack's. Some of our group were already there  chatting with a guy from Boston. An elderly couple started playing fiddles behind us. They weren't particularly good and we continued our chat. "Shush!" said the woman. "It's traditional to be quiet when someone's playing." "Yes, if you're bloody Yo-Yo Ma," I wanted to say.
     We took our pints and entered the snug which is a little room at the end of the bar where the women sat back in the days when it was considered improper for a lady to be seen drinking in a pub. We snickered into our stout as the old couple sawed away. This was the first time I'd ever been shushed in a pub. Unbelievable!
     So the week passed away and on my last night in Ireland, I was sitting in McCarthy's, our favorite non-touristy pub. McCarthy's is far enough up the hill above town that few tourist make it there, but it's the first pub down the hill into town from our residential compound. Ennaways, I was sitting there with my brothers Steve and Mark, and it was a bit after eleven when Mark nodded toward the corner. Two women were taking out their instruments, a fiddle and a concertina.
     They were quite good and we stopped talking as they played a series of jigs and reels. The pubs close at twelve. At 11:45, Daniel, the proprietor, closes one of the two half doors as a signal that the end is near. At twelve he closes the other half, but it's ok to linger awhile and finish your drink.
      We chatted with the women when they took a break. They were from Dublin. They had both been musicians earlier in life, but had let it slide. They had recently started taking classes to polish up their playing which is how they met. It's traditional in Ireland for musicians to just set up in a corner and eventually someone will buy them a drink. If they're any good that is. They had never been in McCarthy's before.
     The doors to the pub were closed when one of the women asked if we'd give them a song. Of course we would. When my brother Steve was a kid, he had bought an album of Old West songs. One we liked and had memorized was about Cole Younger and his raid with Jesse James on the Northfield Bank. I started off and Mark joined me. Steve decided to shush. There was one other couple at the bar and they slid closer to observe the outcome.  Mark's a good singer and there was applause at the end. After some more chat, we were asked for an encore. I was ready with "The Buffalo Skinners," another favorite from the Old West. This time Mark shushed too.
     Now it was time to go. The two women may have stayed for another round. I don't know. The other couple from the bar were heading up the hill, when suddenly the woman was running past us back to the pub. Daniel was waiting outside with her phone.
     Meanwhile my brother Steve had made an Irish exit, zipping up the hill without taking leave. We joined the young couple. They were Irish and had just gotten married in New York. They were on a mini-moon here in Dingle. Kevin, the groom, thanked us for our songs and said he wished he had the courage to sing in public. His wife, who had one of those traditional Irish names I have trouble remembering, said that was true, that he had always wanted to sing in a pub. Mark and I asked him to give us a song.
    We followed behind the couple on the narrow sidewalk as Kevin sang a lovely song about people leaving home in Ireland and arriving at Ellis Island. His voice was a bit quavery because he was nervous, but he did a fine job. It was a lengthy song and as we reached our turning, Mark nudged me and we followed along till Kevin finished his song. We applauded, and I only wished I had a pint to hand him, we enjoyed it that much.
     So I managed to sing in a pub after all; one more thing added to my lifetime list of accomplishments. What's next? Perhaps I'll take up the uilliann pipes. Shush!

In front of McCarthy's